


all wide-eyed like the rest

by eudaimon



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimon/pseuds/eudaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad Colbert is a waiting creature.  He's waited long enough for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all wide-eyed like the rest

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request by Idrilfinial @ LJ who donated to the Help Haiti auctions, and who wanted something about their first time together, set in the middle of the night. Her wish was my command.

A Recon Marine is a patient animal; waiting is their purpose and they are tempered for it, born to this, hoo-rah, and long ago settled into a size that was as useful as possible to the Corps. Semper Fi. Be the trouble that you want to see in the world.

That said: he has done all of the waiting that he means to, here, especially after Nate leaves a half finished beer and a room key on the bar beside his elbow.. Waiting is what he was designed for but every part of him has been waiting for a long, long time, since desert and seared blue sky. Germany is a cooler, wetter climate and, here, things might grow, if given room and air.

That said: he is not unfamiliar with longing.

The glowing numerals on his watch (which was stowed carefully in a zipped compartment until out of Iraqi airspace) say 4.00am, which has always felt like magic hour, weird and elastic when everything seems possible; a quiet hour where everything teeters in the balance. 

And here he is, standing at Nate's door.

He pauses in the hallway, key card in hand, and he was invited here, the last in a long lne of invitations, shuttered glances and covert touches, a brief moment pressed against a wall on the base before they both went their separate ways. A message, writ large:

YOU. I WANT YOU.

And here it is. No more need for hesitation.

The room is quiet and dark. A T.V flickering white noise. He slips onto the bed fully clothed, already barefoot, and presses himself against the neat line of Nate's side.

There's such a sleepy heat, a weight in Nate's bones. He shapes the air over Nate's hip, his hand trembling slightly before it comes to rest against the slope of Nate's belly and he pulls Nate close.

"You're late, Brad," says Nate, sleepily, and the centre of gravity changes, Nate rocking back against him and Brad's arm tightens. He doesn't even know how long he's been waiting for something like this. The heat which Nate is throwing off is incredible, not desert heat, something deeper and hotter. Less glare. He trails his fingers against Nate's bare skin from his belly up to his chest and then lower, back lower, and he finds Nate naked underneath the sheet, and he's never been a praying man, so it's something else that he whispers against Nate's skin. His fingers graze against the length of Nate's dick, thumb brushing against the head, spreading slick against Nate's belly, and Nate's hips lift and the soft sound that escapes him on a breath might even be a moan.

"Come here," says Brad, sucking and nipping at the nape of Nate's neck. "Jesus Chris, Nate."

And they're both used to a chain of command, to following order given, but that doesn't make it any less surprising when Nate rolls over and catches Brad's mouth with an eager kiss, open-mouthed. Its a fumble, but both of them get comfortable and Brad's t-shirt comes off over his head and then it's bare skin on bare skin and Brad's head is racing with everything that he wants to do here. He takes hold of Nate by the hips, pulling him in tight, pushing his pants down low enough that their hard-ons brush together. Brad knows Nate and, some days, it feels like he knows him as well as an extension of his own body and he knows that, sometimes, Nate can set like bone. _Don't_ , he thinks, as close to praying as he ever is. _Don't you dare_.

Tonight, though. Tonight, Nate yields immediately like a beating heart. Brad's fingers curl around both of their dicks, stroking, urging, and Nate breathes hot against his mouth, and it's not perfect and it's not exactly how he'd pictured their first time in a bed together but they fit together neatly, two bodies close enough that they could be lying side by side in a Ranger grave, and Nate rolls his hips, pushing into his hand and Brad crushes their mouths together, and a Recon Marine is a creature built for waiting, but, right then, all that Brad can think is _come on, come on, come on_ , begging in time with Nate's racing heart.


End file.
